It is extremely important that I get out of the house once in a while.
So G and I went on an outing to Target. The Curmudgeon wanted a DVD (Wonder Woman), I needed more Flonase and Claritin, and G and I needed to go out to lunch.
We met a nice gal our age in Target and spent quite a bit of time engaging her in a lively conversation. It was fun.
After Target we went to Applebees for lunch. We had a lovely lunch combo of fire roasted chicken salad wraps and Thai salads.
Now I get to spend the rest of the week shut in with The Curmudgeon.
After a diagnosis of strep throat.
Like the very next day.
I had what they are calling reactive airway disease with wheezing.
In other words…I couldn’t freaking breathe…I was moving no air through my lungs.
And I was scared silly.
Therefore I am armed with a rescue inhaler, am on antibiotics for the strep, and a tapering dose of prednisone.
Lucy has taken it upon herself to tell me I need my inhaler when I start wheezing and coughing in my sleep.
2 puffs every 4 hours. Yep, she has it down pretty well.
We have The Curmudgeon’s appointments out of the way.
His are a logistics nightmare. Making sure he is ready to go an hour before the appointment because he will invariably have to find at least ten things to do when we should be walking out the door. Then getting him to the van and loading him and his rollator into it.
Making sure I have all the paperwork he needs to have on hand to fill out all the paperwork they want filled out–yeah, paperless my Aunt Fanny.
Seems every single time we go to any of his doctors they have a mountain of paper work for him to fill out. Well, he can’t see that well and his writing is unreadable so can you guess who gets to fill everything out?
I often question the line “are you afraid of being hurt?”
If the caregiver is the one filling out the form and if they are abusive… how would they answer that one?
Must be the mystery writer in me.
I’m not making light of the importance of that question just the fact that I see so many caregivers are the ones filling out the questionnaires. Maybe they should have a couple of designated questionnaire writers for impaired patients because having the possible abuser filling them out defeats the purpose of the question.
Besides, I am so tired of filling those things out that I want to scream when they hand me a stack of papers.
Next appointment is mine. I go alone. I take my kindle. I am ready in plenty of time. I relax.
My newest Tee
Lot of good that did, I woke with an aura–the beginning of a migraine for me. I haven’t had a migraine in well over a year.
I hate seeing that aura. It means I get to spend the rest of the day feeling rather crappy. If I take migraine medicine as soon as I see the aura I don’t get the head splitting headache but I do still get the slight nausea and general mild headache for 24 hours. Feels like a mild hangover.
This is close to what my aura looks like, only it’s more cross hatched than wavy, is super bright, starts as a tiny spot in the lower right corner of my vision and grows to block my sight completely if I don’t take the medicine. Luckily mine are now controlled with over the counter medicines instead of prescription ones, and they are very few and far between. They used to be hormonally triggered now it is stress and/or petroleum fumes of any kind that triggers them.
The dehumidifier has run for a full day and over night. There is a noticeable difference in how humid the basement is.
It is about half of what it was.
I’m actually able to tolerate it down there enough to get laundry done.
I really like this new doctor, she listens to me and doesn’t make assumptions.
We discussed all my test results and she’s quite pleased with them.
Last blood test indicates LDL level is very low…yay! And HDL level is at optimal high. Another Yay me.
No need for another colonoscopy for 10 years.
Pulmonary tests indicate I have an allergy related cough that we are controlling with Claritin and Flonase.
Now we are going to tackle the weight gain. She is sending me to a doctor who specializes in it.
Unless I get sick, I won’t see her until mid November.
*Update on Lucy: Lucy is doing very well. She has become quite perky today.
Trying to get things done when your back is completely screwed up is not easy.
I get a minimum done and have to stop and rest my back because the pain is too much.
Seems that just when my back was feeling better, The Curmudgeon fell down (he falls all the time and does it with skill so he seldom gets hurt) And he insisted I help him up.
Like a damned fool, I did, and out went my back again, this time worse than usual.
We don’t have any place to turn to for a moment of relief.
No one wants to hear our tales of woe.
There’s never any help when you need it unless you pay through the nose for it.
No one asks how you are but they always ask how she/he is.
People are quick to offer advice but never offer to help.
We often feel as if we’re losing our minds.
Maybe she’ll fix this chronic cough. She’s sending me for some pulmonary tests since she did a peak flow test on me and I didn’t do great on it. First time I’ve done one.
I never did test well.
Always hated tests, and the two others she has lined up for me rank at about #1 and #2 in tests I don’t want, know I should have, and my old doctor hasn’t ordered them done in many years.
Maybe I should have worn this shirt?
There are days where I can’t wait for him to go up for his afternoon nap or to bed for the night.
Days where his voice alone makes me cringe in a ‘now what the hell does he want?’ bend of mind.
Those are the days where I’ve blasted past exhausted and landed into the “I can’t do it any more” zone.
Once he’s gone to bed for whichever… I feel as though I can …maybe…breathe for a minute.
The stress-tightened iron bands around my chest loosen…a little.
All to soon, he wakens to begin the cycle again.
Release the Kraken!
It’s painful to watch The Curmudgeon allow himself to circle the drain. His doctors have recommended exercise, physical therapy, and even swimming.
He refuses saying they only make him hurt more.
Fine. If you’re determined to do a slow death spiral, go ahead, but I refuse to be a part of it.
I will no longer participate in your idiocy.
I refuse to be egged into daily battles.
In the meantime, I intend to work on my health and well-being.
After spending an hour and a half loading The Curmudgeon’s pill cases for the month, my eyes are tired, my back is killing me, my neck is stiff, and my head aches.
I do this every month.
Not once have I ever heard a thank you.
When I’d set my Mom’s pills up for her while she visited, she always said thank you to me and hers didn’t take half as long to do. But I only had set up a week at a time for her.
This is what I do for The Curmudgeon.